


All But Left To Hunger

by beer_good



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Episode: s05e22 Not Fade Away, F/F, Rape/Non-con References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-06 01:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beer_good/pseuds/beer_good
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drusilla and Faith both find themselves in the alley shortly after "Not Fade Away". They're too late to change the future, now they're stuck with the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All But Left To Hunger

**Title:** All But Left To Hunger  
 **Fandom:** _Angel_ , post-"Not Fade Away"  
 **Pairing:** Drusilla/Faith; vague references to Faith/Buffy and Drusilla/Angelus  
 **Rating:** Let's say R just to be safe, though there's nothing explicit  
 **Word count:** ~1300  
 **Warnings:** Character death, allusions to past abuse, general Dru POV  
 **Summary:** Drusilla and Faith both find themselves in the alley shortly after "Not Fade Away". They're too late to change the future, now they're stuck with the past.  
Written for **xlivvielockex** 's [Femslash February](http://xlivvielockex.livejournal.com/165627.html) and **snowpuppies'** s prompt "Faith/Dru, sorrow"

**All But Left To Hunger**  
When she gets there, the battle is over. There are ashes and blood on the ground, screams and howls and battle songs still hanging in the air like smoke. Drusilla crouches down where Angel and Spike fell and rubs her hands through the family she already lost.

She's felt the Slayer coming all the way there. Felt the racing of her heart and constant grinding _fuck no fuck no fuck no WAIT_ in her head all the way there, the ugly tinny shriek as the motorcycle finally died a few blocks away and she had to run the last mile on legs that couldn't feel, and the way it all stops the second she rounds the corner and sees the carnage, sees that she's too late.

Sees Drusilla.

Drusilla sees herself through Faith's eyes; a pitiful creature, looking like she'd crumble and blow away at the slightest gust of wind. She feels the Slayer's hand tighten around the stake as if it were her own  
 _came this far for nothing gotta kill SOMETHING_  
and then relax when she recognises her. They've never met, but they know each other.

And Faith should kill her, not just to work off the grief and anger that bottled up during the cross-continental ride, screw that, she should kill _her_ especially, really fucking specifically her. But what the hell is the point? Because after they all told her this was Angel's business and they can't lend a hand to the CEO of whatever, after she rode her bike into the ground to at least stand with them, it's still too late and nothing she could do now matters.

"Poor girl," Drusilla says. "All alone again. They say they'll never let you go, and then..." She lets the ashes fall through her fingers.

Faith watches it fall and blow away, then grimaces, turns her back on the vampire and walks off towards the back of the alley. "Sun's up in a few minutes. Your choice."

 

***

She kicks in the door to the Hyperion in a cloud of dust, yells "HELLO?" to the empty building. "ANYONE?"

"They're all gone," Drusilla replies as she sneaks in behind her.

The girl whirls on her, shutthefuckuping the stake into the floor at her feet before taking a deep breath and walking over to the front desk. There's another thick layer of dust on the dead phone. Nothing but ghosts here. "I get it," she spits. "You're the last one of your... tribe, or whatever. Boo fucking hoo. What were you gonna do, anyway, help them or help kill them? Do vamps even get the difference?"

Drusilla looks up at her. "Not the last."

Faith's jaw tightens as she turns away again. "Whatever."

She doesn't react when Drusilla sidles up behind her, weaving through the unavenged dead around the Slayer, mocking and bleeding and dusting all over her. "No need to put the cork back in the bottle, my sweet." Faith's neck is rock-hard tense under her touch. "This is who we are." She sees the punch coming before Faith even knows she's going to throw it, so easy to put an arm up and block it. "Be nice," she snaps, holding Faith's eyes in hers but not pushing just yet. "I made you, my Slayer. No wasting what mummy gave you."

Faith pulls away from her. "No offense, lady, but you got nothing on my mom. And the only reason you're not dust right now is 'cause Angel... 'Cause Angel... FUCK!" She turns and kicks a hole in the front desk, stalks away like she had someplace to be, stops in the middle of the room.

Drusilla does a little do-si-do around the dead Jamaican girl on the floor, dragging blood over the carpet, follows Faith as she backs away, looks into her. Most human souls shine like little lightbulbs, dim and steady until they break; this one flickers and smokes, like the candles in the convent when the doors flew open, the ones that fought to stay alight so she couldn't look away. "Yes, dearie. That's what _they_ thought too; that you can choose who you are, where to go. That that blonde little Slayer would just forgive and - "

This time the punch connects, but Drusilla barely feels it. Faith stares at her, rubbing her knuckles, breathing like an animal, wanting to say _you don't know her_ and knowing it's not true. "Alright, fine," she spits and drop her hands to her sides. "You want your ego rubbed? Show me how you 'made' me. I dare ya. Show me how you killed her."

Drusilla looks in her eyes, then flexes her fingernails and slowly lets them brush over Faith's exposed throat. Scratching but not piercing the skin, teasing a gasp from her that Drusilla snaps up like a bug. She used to need to breathe, once. She felt her last breath go, once. She drags her nails across a little neck and lets out the life; one girl falls, one girl stands.

Faith sees it, feels all the centuries pass between them, but quickly pushes it back down. "Right, that's all you did. You killed a girl who deserved better. Big whoop. That I fucked up is on me. Who killed her doesn't mean anything."

Drusilla shakes her head. "Oh, but it always does, dearie. Death means everything." She flexes her ashen grey fingers again, holds them up in front of Faith. "Made me drink, Angelus did. Made me do other things before that. And after. It's what our daddy does; makes little playthings and leaves them just when the game is getting good. How is that nothing?" She smiles and puts her hand to Faith's cheek, smearing ashes on it. " _Our time's never up, Faith. We pay for everything._ That's what my Angel told you, isn't it?"

" _Shut up._ " Faith pushes her away, heads towards the door, picking up the stake from the floor. Outside the sun has come up, and Los Angeles is going on like it always did. Nothing's changed. A garbage truck empties the dumpster in the alley out back and drives off. Later, someone will be by with a hose. A police siren blasts somewhere in the distance.

Drusilla puts her arms around her, hisses at the bloodied ghosts that want to fight her for her Slayer, at the blonde laughing outside with her back to them. "We don't belong with them anymore."

Faith's knuckles are white around the stake as Drusilla unzips her jacket. She lets her, then suddenly grabs her wrist and looks in her eyes. "I'm sorry. Y'know, for what he did to you. I guess he probably told you that at some point, but... I am."

Drusilla stares at her and sneers. "No. No. Not like that. Don't be like that. You can't be like that. Can't leave us." She lunges for Faith, who easily grabs her hands and holds her.

"Didn't say I would." Faith lets her go and steps closer. "You really think I wanna be alone right now?"

 

***

Drusilla paints, in ashes and teethmarks on white warm skin, belly and neck and thigh. Paints things that might have been. A lone pathetic drunk never rising from his last drink, leaving nothing except a few bastards whose names he never knew. A girl in a convent window, begging forgiveness from God as she gazes down on the silent garden. A lonely old man visiting his mother's grave every day. A street urchin falling asleep in an alley somewhere in Boston, chosen for nothing. Scratches it all out to the sound of gasps and groans, paints a happy family, paints strong arms protecting her, firm hands holding her, feeding and being fed, promises that are never broken, something that must be, will be, _is_

 

***

She wakes from a deep sleep, not knowing where she is. For a brief second, who she is. She feels the stake next to her hand and remembers.

Faith shakes off the dust as she gathers her clothes. Outside the sun roars down. She waits in the lobby, smoking endless cigarettes and letting the ashes fall until it's dark.


End file.
